"Never on me came anguish like to this—not when my brethren died, my fatherland was wasted—like this anguish for your death! You were my day, my sunlight, my sweet life, my hope of good, my strong defense from harm, dearer than all my beauty—yes, more dear than my lost parents! You were all in all to me, you only, captive though I be. You took from me every bondmaid's task and like a wife you held me."

-Briseis to the dead Achilles

Quintus Smyrnaeus, The Fall of Troy

Troy burned around him; and though he could smell it, he could not see. In the streets, flames gobbled up homes with hungry jaws, swords danced graceful arcs through vein and flesh and bone; all around him Troy burned, and he did not see. It was the victory that would define war, the war to put all heroes to death and raise up new ones in their place.

He watched her mount the stairs, two at a time, Paris dragging her by the arm. Her face was speckled with blood. Her hair was matted, her clothes torn; but she was the sun and he could not look away. He willed himself to stand, and could not; he willed himself to stay on his knees, to end his life like a man; so her last sight of him would be the strength of his arms and the set of his chin and his eyes, never leaving hers.

When she disappeared from view, he fell to the ground and died. He crossed the river quietly, and the ferryman asked him for no coins; for he was Achilles, son of Thetis, who never had a use for gold in life.

The water was cool, the breezes sweet; the food was beyond compare. There was a soft music playing, and the women danced around the fires at night and never bothered to pull back their hair. Some of the men wandered around the banks, looking like lost children; some men cried, and some fought each other with broken table legs until their rage subsided. Mostly, though, they sat at the table and told stories, each more fantastic and lengthier than the last. They set aside jealousy and pride; they passed dishes from hand to hand. They drank the wine of peace in each other's company.

Achilles sat by the water and waited. Patroclus brought him roasted fowls and grapes, and took them away again, untouched; though he would drink and speak with those who came to ask him questions, or merely to sit in his company. Each day when the boatman ferried his passengers, he checked their faces, and turned away. Not yet. Years passed like months, many friends and enemies stepped off the raft, and time slipped out of their fingers like fine sand; but no one knew to care.

After a while, he realized he was not alone. Another man had preceded him, on the right side of the ferryman's dock, sitting patiently, whittling. He whistled to himself, a child's song, simple. The man noticed Achilles watching him, and lifted his dark, shaggy head.

"Good day, brother."

"Good day to you, Hector of Troy."

They sat in silence for some time, until Achilles could not contain his question.

"Whom do you wait for ?"

"Her." he said, and smiled. "I suspect we are not so different, after all."

She came.

Ever the faithful servant of the gods, she arrived attired in her priestess's robes, her head crowned in gold; though when she reached the shore, she took the circlet from her head and cast it on the sand. Achilles called out her name, and stood up.

They stood a hair's breadth from each other.

"Have you a husband ?" he asked, gently. "You were young. A long time has passed, and I thought…"

"I died unmarried." Briseis said, and laid her head against his chest.